


If I Didn't Care

by Draycevixen



Series: Collection of POI fic by Draycevixen [49]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: s04e22 YHWH, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5671417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I offered 12 days of ficlets to my friends. </p><p>Blythechild prompted: <i>It's just not the same without him.</i></p><p>Set post-season 4, I expect this to be shortly, and very thoroughly, jossed. In the meantime though I dwell in possibility...</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Didn't Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blythechild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/gifts).



He was sulking. He hated to admit it even to himself, ex-CIA agents didn't sulk, but it was the ugly truth. All he'd wanted was to spend some time alone with Finch and he'd been blocked at every turn. First Root had a new subroutine she wanted to run through with Finch and then Fusco had a hacker case he needed to discuss with him. Then there was the pressing matter of getting the Machine back on her feet and she needed time with her father, needed reassurance that she had every reason to exist. 

He'd bided his time, understanding why he had to be last in line but when Finch was finally free for an evening he'd excused himself on the grounds of needing some time alone and headed out to Machine knows where. 

Finch must have really been tired this time as it didn't seem he'd noticed John following him. Finch had gone into the lobby of a modest apartment building, well-suited to his Whistler persona, but it had been surprising how easy it was to follow him inside with no locks on the door and no lobby security. 

He dropped back a bit farther but still followed Finch as he walked straight through the building and out the back door into an alley. Across the alley was another door. As he watched from the apartment building's backdoor, Finch knocked on it and a small panel slid back to reveal a bruiser's face. Words were exchanged and Finch went in. John waited a few minutes before crossing the alley himself and knocking on the same door where the panel slid back to reveal the same bruiser. The view was even worse up-close as the bruiser looked him up and down.

"He said you'd be along." 

The small panel slid closed and the door opened. The bruiser waved him inside towards the hatcheck girl. He handed over his overcoat and got a ticket in return before walking down a short corridor that opened out into a restaurant and bar with a stage where a small jazz combo was giving it their all. The singer was halfway through torching "If I Didn't Care." 

The maître d' turned on his heel and led him straight to Finch's table, located off to the side but very near the stage. 

"I thought you might join me. Would you like to have dinner?"

"Yes." He was glad he was at his most scintillating this evening. 

"Eric, a menu, please, for my verbose friend." Obviously Finch thought so too. 

Eric went to fetch the menu. 

"Why are we here, Finch?"

"An existential question? No? I'm here to listen to some really great jazz and to eat a very fine steak. You're here because you've been wanting to talk to me about something ever since you returned. I'm just not sure what exactly."

This was where he should say something, should simply tell Finch what was on his mind. "I'm not sure either."

Finch's lips narrowed. 

"I just haven't spent much time with you recently."

"That's hardly my fault, Mr. Reese."

"I know." 

The singer kept singing, now something about crying her a river, and Eric returned with the menu. Despite being certain he wouldn't be able to eat anything, he took Finch's recommendation and ordered a steak. 

He ate all of his steak and half of FInch's. He hoped Finch thought he'd just been that hungry but as long as he was eating, Finch couldn't really expect him to say much. 

 

He wasn't sure where to start. When they'd all split up and gone their separate ways in hopes of shaking Samaritan again, he'd been glad, god help him. He'd wallowed in a fantasy of picking up Iris and getting out of New York that he'd keep driving until he ran out of land. West would have been great, North would have been more practical, less surveillance, but in the end it didn't matter because it was just a fantasy. He had no future with Iris. He didn't have a future at all but whatever time he had left he needed to spend with someone who really knew him and not just as John Riley. 

He'd spent two weeks alone in Ithaca, mingling with the students, thinking about the path not taken, haunted by the ghosts of his past. Then, for the first time ever, he'd found himself haunted by the living, by a man who knew everything about him and still sought him out and always had his back. He'd been headed back to New York within the hour. 

Finch and Root had never left despite that being their agreement. Finch had seemed oddly disappointed to see him again and he'd been hurt by it. That was his first real inkling that something had shifted as he hadn't thought anything could hurt him anymore. Hurt by it until Root had sniped at John about running off with Dr. Blondie and Finch's face had fallen. Finch had known about Iris all along, of course he had, and he'd wanted John to be free to have his fantasy come true. 

And that's when he'd finally admitted to himself he'd come back because nothing had been the same without Finch, nothing could be. No one living cared about him more and the rest of the world could burn as long as Finch survived. 

 

Now he just had to tell him. "How long have you been coming here, Finch?" Or not. He'd never been good with words. 

"I first came here years ago, with Nathan. It's a private club that opened in the early '30s, hence the speakeasy vibe."

"You never brought Grace here?"

"This place belonged to a time before I'd even met her." Finch raised his chin, like he was daring John to punch him. "Historically, it was a gay club and Nathan didn't want to see it torn down like so much of New York's history, so we bought it. I gave it to Eric after Nathan's death and I haven't been back since."

"Until now."

"You have a great talent for stating the obvious, Mr. Reese." Finch drank his coffee and looked everywhere but at John. 

Harold never willingly shared his history with anyone and yet here he was, sharing something very intimate even if in typically indirect Harold fashion. He just hoped he wasn't drawing the wrong conclusions. He reached across the table and took Harold's hand in his. 

"I came back for you." He tightened his grip. "Only for you."

Harold's face lit up as his fingers caressed the back of John's hand. "I think there are still rooms upstairs—"

"No."

"No?" Harold looked puzzled and the caress stopped. 

"No, not like some dirty little secret, we've had too many of those." He stood up, never letting go of Harold's hand so he was forced to stand as well. "Until the wheels fall off." And then he kissed him, not caring what the jazz combo or anyone else might think, certain the Machine, Bear, Fusco and even Root would approve. "Let's go tell the family."


End file.
